


Remember, Remember the 25th of November

by DownOnThePharm



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gazpacho Soup Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownOnThePharm/pseuds/DownOnThePharm
Summary: Rimmer is difficult to live with around Gazpacho Soup Day.  Lister, loving partner that he is, wants to change that.  Angsty fluff.





	Remember, Remember the 25th of November

November had come round again according to Dwarf-Time, and, with it, the advent of the Day That Shall Not Be Named In Rimmer’s Presence. Granted, given the absolute lack in deep space of handy reference points such as seasons, and the mucking about with timelines the Boys From The Dwarf were forever doing, there was a better than even chance it was actually mid-April or thereabouts, but, as per the mutually agreed-upon Red Dwarf calendar, November it was. As usual for this time of year, Rimmer was in an increasingly foul frame of mind, alternating between peevish snappishness and sullen silence, with the occasional temper tantrum thrown in, just for variety. 

Lister was long accustomed to his partner’s Gazpacho Soup Day (month!) moods, having dealt with them for decades now. Privately, he sometimes wondered why Rimmer would happily celebrate his Death Day, yet sink into a blue funk over the memory of eating smegging warmed-over soup, as it would seem to him that dying would be by far the more traumatic of the two events. Knowing his hologram’s crossed mental wiring as well as he did, though, he stoically accepted the annual bouts of anger and sadness as just another aspect of Arn’s makeup, as integral to his psyche as were Cat’s vanity, Kryten’s love of cleaning, and his own slovenliness. Still, he wished he could find some small way to brighten the day a bit for Rimmer, as his beloved’s obvious distress bruised Lister’s soft heart. 

How, though? Snuggling and affection were brushed off with protestations of unworthiness. Poker games were out, as were board games, as Rimmer wanted nothing to do with the other Dwarfers, and would hole up in the diesel decks for days if pushed. Even Lister’s self-sacrificial proposal one year of an evening of perusing Rimmer’s telegraph pole photo collection while listening to Hammond organ records was rejected out of hand, much to his secret relief. War documentary film festivals, nights of drinking themselves into traffic cone-hooking, pavement-licking kerschnickeredness, baking contests - all had been suggested over the years, and all had been dismissed by the hologram in favor of wallowing alone in his pain. 

Pacing around the bunk room while mulling over the question at hand, Lister found himself looking at some of Rimmer’s framed drawings. After years of concealing his artistic side for fear of being mocked, Rimmer had finally openly embraced his talents after Cat had discovered an old sketch he’d once made of Frankenstein, and promptly claimed it while demanding that Goalpost Head produce more pictures for his quarters. Rimmer particularly loved working in colored pencils, and had quite a large collection of them, ranging in quality from cheap children’s school pencils to high-end, professional-level sets that he treasured. Occasionally, he’d wistfully gaze at his favorite pencils, a 48-count tin of Titancolor Illustrators, and tell Lister about the company’s legendary 150-count set. “Every color they made, Listy. They were all included. It was beautiful. I once saw one in an art shop on Titan, but I couldn’t justify spending several hundred dollarpounds on it. It really was lovely.” 

_That’s it,_ Lister thought. _There has to be a set of those stupid pencils somewhere on this rustbucket._ He knew that Rimmer disliked visiting the shopping mall decks, declaring them eerie and possibly haunted, and generally refused to set foot on them unless doing so was unavoidable. Even the prospect of poking through the several art supply shops there wasn’t enough to entice him to accompany Cat and Lister on their twice-monthly expeditions. As those shops were thus mostly unexplored, Lister reasoned, there was an excellent chance that one of them could have the coveted Illustrators in stock. A man now on a mission, he set out to find the felinoid and rope him into the hunt with promises of even more colorful artworks to complement his suit collection.

————

As November 25th dawned, Rimmer sat at the table in the dimly lit sleeping quarters, head buried in his arms, and silent holo-tears falling. He hadn’t slept for most of the night, as his self-loathing subroutines had fired up right on schedule, tormenting him with the memories of what he considered to be the most humiliating experience of his sad, all too short life. He vaguely noted that Lister’s warthog-like snoring had ceased, but was too absorbed in his pain to wonder why his partner was stirring. 

After a few minutes, Rimmer heard the thud of boots hitting the floor behind him, then felt warm arms enveloping him from behind in a hug as a kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. “Lister, please,” he mumbled from the tabletop. “Please, don’t. I’m not worth it. I’m useless.”

A soothing hand gently stroked his hair as another kiss was lovingly if a bit clumsily placed on his ear.

“Listy...”

“Shh, darlin’. There’ll be none of that self-hating smeg today. I won’t have it. This has gone on for too long.”

“But, today is...”

“I know what today is, man.” 

Lister eased himself down onto the stool beside Rimmer’s, and embraced him again. Despite himself, Rimmer couldn’t help sitting up, turning towards Lister, and leaning into the comforting warmth of the hug. He buried his face on his partner’s shoulder as Lister gently rubbed his back. They sat quietly like that for quite a long while, the only sounds Rimmer’s sniffling and Lister’s soft murmurs. Finally, Rimmer lifted his head and looked at his Listy with reddened, watery eyes. “I don’t understand,” he haltingly began. “I’m not good at anything. Why do you still want me?”

Brushing away a lingering tear with his thumb, Lister smiled at his hologram. “I said there’d be none of that today, Arnie. As it happens, you’re damn good at some things. Wait here.” He kissed Rimmer on his H, then hopped off his stool, went over to his bunk, and, after rummaging around under the mattress for a moment, pulled out a large package messily wrapped in bright blue paper. He proudly bore his trophy back to the table, and placed it with a flourish in front of the bewildered hologram. “Here. It’s not wrapped all posh and fancy like your gifts are, but it’s still pretty good.”

Confused, Rimmer asked, “Listy, what’s this? It’s... that day, not my birthday or Death Day.”

“What does it look like, love? It’s a gift for you. Open it!”

“But...”

“Oh, shut up and open it, ya smegger,” Lister replied affectionately.

Rimmer regarded his gift for a moment longer, then carefully opened the end of it and began sliding out the box within. At the realization of what he held, Rimmer gasped, a sharp intake of breath he didn’t actually need. “Listy... Titancolor Illustrators? The full set? Where...? How...?” Hazel eyes welled up again, this time with joy, as he reverently caressed the box with trembling hands. 

“Cat helped me track it down in one of the art supply shops down in the mall. I wanted to give you something to make today a bit less crap for you. You’re brilliant at drawing, and you’ve said loads of times that you’d always wanted that set, so I thought I’d try to find them for you to remind you that you’re good at something, even if it’s not being a smegging officer.” Lister broke off as Rimmer stood up and hugged him fiercely.

“I’m guessing you like them?”

Rimmer nodded against Lister’s face, too overcome to speak.

“Happy Disgusting Soup Day, darlin’.”


End file.
